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Holy crap, where the hell was she?
“Where are you?”
“Oh my God, Taryn. We did something really stupid,” she scrambled.
“What did you do?” I demanded.
Tray stopped, hearing my tone. He watched as I sat up from him.
“Sasha and Amber went off about you and Tray. How you’re just screwing him and that’s why you get away with everything you do…and so,” she took a deep breath, “Sasha remembered your friend Grayley and how you were so protective of him. And she wanted to get even with you…”
“Yeah?” I encouraged her, a knot of dread forming in my stomach.
“And she remembered that you told her that he hung out at the Seven8, so we asked around and Bryce said the Seven8 was a club in Pedlam…so…”
“You went to the Seven8?!” I cried out, in disbelief.
Oh my God.
“Are you insane?” I added, outraged. “I was joking. I was not serious. The Seven8 is dangerous, Mandy. People go there in masses, girls just don’t go there unless they want to get assaulted.”
“Yeah, well…we kinda figured that out for ourselves.”
“Oh, fucking A,” I groaned.
I saw Tray moving around the room and realized he was dressing in more formal clothes.
“Can you leave?” I asked, standing also.
“No, um…we’re kinda…we’re in trouble.”
“Oh my God, what kind of trouble?”
“We finally got in
and these guys started hitting on Amber and Jasmine. When Bryce tried to step in, they beat him up, Taryn. He can barely walk and he’s bleeding everywhere and they won’t let us leave.”
“Grab one of the bouncers. Make them help you.”
“We can’t move in this place. You don’t understand—it’s—these guys are keeping us in this corner and no one even knows that they beat Bryce up.”
“Are any of the other guys there?”
“Yeah, Grant is here but they won’t let him over to us. We haven’t seen him since we got here. Amber thinks he got beat up too,” she cried out. I could hear a hitch in her voice.
“Oh, fucking hell, I’m coming.” I stood up, about to walk out of the room, but Tray caught me and tossed the rest of my clothes at me.
I’d forgotten to finish dressing.
“Hurry. Please,” Mandy demanded, hanging up.
Tray had his keys in his hand and waited at the door as I finished dressing.
I swept through the door, darting to his SUV and waited impatiently as he climbed in and backed out of his driveway. When he didn’t turn towards the school, I cried out, “What are you doing?”
“You’re not going to the Seven8 alone,” he stated firmly.
“Jace owns that club. I’ll be fine.”
